Raising Hell
by kalina16
Summary: Owen thought he knew what he was getting into when he signed up for raising a bunch of raptors. That hospital visits are expected - the caring part? Not so much. And that doesn't even include whatever he has going on with Claire - excuse him, Ms. Dearing. They really should have mentioned this in the introductory pamphlet.


**So apparently summer jobs drain all your time and motivation (I'm so sorry I'll get back to my other fics as soon as I find the time). But anyways Jurassic World was amazing and I enjoyed it way more than I ever thought I would. Chris Pratt was fantastic in it, and I loved Owen's relationship with the raptors - and his relationship with Claire, there were a lot of great relationships in there.**

 **This takes place pre-movie, obviously. Enjoy!**

* * *

No matter how many times Owen tells himself that yes, it is worth it, and yes, it's possibly the coolest job ever, the thing about raising freaking _raptors_ is that it requires patience. A lot of it.

It's a good thing that patience is one of the few positive qualities Owen possesses, or he's pretty sure he would have lost his mind by now.

The tricky thing is that raptors aren't _consistent_ – there are good days, there are bad days, and then there are really, really bad days (ones that end in hospitals and biting _(ha)_ lectures from InGen and leave him unable to sleep at night). And there's no pattern, no rhyme or reason to it. All he can do each morning is cross his fingers and hope that maybe, maybe, this day will be one of the good ones.

It gets a bit disheartening at points.

To be fair, the first few years were fine – back when Delta could still slip through bars, when Charlie's tiny legs wouldn't support her rapid momentum, when Echo liked to steal worker's hats and curl up in them, when Blue still fit in the crook of his arm. Back then, they weren't half as aggressive, at least towards him. He could still get away with gentle touches and playful nudging _without_ a muzzle back then.

Now, however…

Well, he's lucky he still has all his fingers, that's for sure.

Barry seems to have expected it, stating that it's only natural. Maybe it's just some form of Velociraptor puberty, he suggests, suppressing a grin. If Alpha translates to father figure, then it's only natural that they'd lash out at Owen.

Owen tells Barry he's hilarious and goes back to staring at his girls, definitely _not_ pouting as he fidgets with the thick bandages around his forearm.

"I know you didn't mean too, Blue," he tells her lowly, after the other workers have strayed away. "You were just playin', right?"

Blue regards him curiously from behind the bars, her red-flecked teeth bared a bit too hungrily for Owen's liking.

"Hey," he says, half-hopelessly. "Don't be like that. You know I'd never hurt you, right?"

Blue continues to stare at him, eyes calculating and _intelligent_ , and Owen feels the slightest spark of hope as she relaxes, moving slowly towards the bars, and-

 _Slam._

Owen jumps back, heart in his throat as Delta's teeth snap angrily around the bars, mere inches away from his face. She gives up after a minute of snapping, snarling at him before running off. Blue spars him a final glance, baring her teeth again _(definitely hungry)_ before she follows her sister. Owen sags onto the ground, breathing erratic.

They're his girls. He'd never hurt them.

It's not a two-way relationship, though. Not yet.

So yes, there are good days, and then there are bad days. But he's working on an island full of dinosaurs cooked up in a lab, the legacy of _massively_ failed former park, so what can he expect, really? At least the weather's nice.

The people, he'd rather steer clear of, save a select few, but that's not hard, on an island like this. And he's got a decent home and running water (even if the heat rarely kicks in for the shower), the radio works and he gets to own a decent bike and _ride_ it, so he's pretty content. He also gets to raise an extinct species of killers for a decent pay, so yeah. Enjoy the good days and take the bad days as they come.

…it just gets a bit wearing, how many bad days there are lately.

It doesn't help that Claire – excuse him, _Ms. Dearing,_ is always around for those bad days. Somehow, inexplicably, she always comes by when Owen's two seconds away from getting his hand eaten by angry, growling raptors, or when he's flat on his back because _the damn cage always closes too fast, still gotta fix that._

Whatever the case, Ms. Dearing always shows up at the worst of times, and hell if she doesn't have some passive-aggressive remark ready to throw at him each time. He hates her little smirk, her straight-laced tone of voice, the way her eyes flick to the side in those tiny eye-rolls she does, the way her (probably fake) red hair swishes as she shakes her head, still impeccably perfect even in the blistering heat.

She frustrates him to no end, especially since she can't ever seem to come on a good day. Would it kill her to come by the day Echo playfully followed him around the enclosure, or the day Charlie whined every time he tried to leave, or the day Blue sat down by him, her razor-sharp teeth inches from his leg, and fell asleep?

(Even if those days are growing further and further in the past, they still _happened_.)

It's not even that he wants to show her that he's making progress – though yeah, a part of him wants to rub that in her face – it's that he wants her to understand, to see that his girls aren't just soulless, man-eating _things_ here to make money. They're animals, yes, but they're also highly intelligent, beautiful animals with painfully _human_ traits. There's an understanding there, a mutual respect found in their similarities, a humbling sort of awe to be found when locking eyes with them, and can't she at least give him the _chance_ to show her that? She's helping run one of the most fantastic parks ever created and she's missing out on the whole point.

Whatever. Owen doesn't know why he cares what Clai- _Ms. Dearing_ – thinks so much. Doesn't know why he even tries to make her understand, to open her eyes to the world around her. It's a losing battle, anyways. She's never shown anything but long-suffering disdain towards him, and their verbal spats have apparently become a thing of legend around the park's crew. If anything's a lost cause, it's winning her over.

That doesn't stop him from making massively idiotic moves, however.

* * *

"You asked her out _again_?!"

Owen grits his teeth as the control room worker – Lowery, or something – laughs loudly over the phone.

"No," he snaps. "Open the gate and shut up."

"That's not what the people over at the T-rex observatory say," Lowery continues, ignoring his order. "Apparently Dearing's voice came pretty close to shattering the _glass_. What'd you even say, man?"

"I. Didn't. Say. Anything," Owen grits out, sorely regretting making his latest attempt in such a public place now. "Just open the gate."

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Lowery says, obviously skeptical. "Hey, maybe bring her flowers next time, or something. Get a peace offering, or – _shit_ \- yes, of course I'm being professional Ms. Dearing, I – hey!"

Lowery's voice dissolves into a stream of arguing as the gate finally creaks open, and Owen wastes no time in ending the call, chucking his phone at the seat next to him in frustration. Damn it. He knew, he _knew_ there were still people in the observatory, and he was an idiot for assuming they wouldn't go spilling it all over the park.

It's not that he's actually embarrassed about it, really. He's been turned down by Claire Dearing time after time and it has yet to wound him. He has yet to grow tired of it, even if he has no idea why. Maybe because of the way she turns scarlet when he brings it up, the way her stoic, professional demeanor crumbles as she sputters at him, half-outraged, half-flustered. No matter how many times he's asked her before, he still manages to catch her off guard, still managed to pull out her humanity for a few minutes.

And maybe that's why he keeps at it, he thinks. Those small glimpses of her humanity are like Blue's gentle nudges – rare, brief, and beautiful. Claire Dearing fascinates him more than he'd like to admit, and for all his denials, his constant attempts to get her on a date are far more than a joke. And one of these days he'll win her over, too – the same day his girls accept him again, probably.

Or he will if everyone doesn't ruin it by spreading it to every corner of the island.

Owen sighs, putting the jeep in park and resting his head against the steering wheel. He couldn't care less what the rest of the park's crew thinks of him – god knows what they think of him now, talking to raptors and playing with them like a maniac – but people will want to talk. Every minute spent talking with stuck-up representatives and arrogant scientists is already a massive waste of his time. Getting delayed because everyone wants to know _what went down_ with him and Claire might actually be more so.

Excuse him, _Ms. Dearing._

He grunts, shoving the door open and grabbing his vest (because god forbid he come to this meeting looking sloppier than he normally does, to quote). He strides forwards, boots stomping through the thick grass that quickly turns to hard, stainless metal. He schools his expression into one of total apathy as he taps the keypad, the glass doors hissing open and blasting him with frigid air.

Oh, wonderful. He can already hear Ms. Dearing yelling.

* * *

So it turns out that, despite the attraction freaking _dinosaurs_ hold, the park's rates have dropped again. To Owen, it's a miniscule hit, but going by the upper staff and investors, you'd think it was the end times. The meeting's a solid three hours of barely-suppressed voices and expense reports, and Owen's never watched his time disappear in a worse way.

There is one tiny, short bright spot when Ms. Dearing breaks face to snap angrily at one of the investors, hair swishing and eyes flashing as she spins to lash out at them. She is sharp and venomous, and the investor goes quieter than the new recruits Owen's been handed this week.

It's moments like that when Owen half-wishes she'd say yes, just once.

Not that it's of any importance. What _is_ important is that InGen has their hands full cooking up another dinosaur, and he's stuck with accelerating his girls' training program, in order to, quote _"finally make some good money off those things"_. Owen has to resist the urge to throw the man a lewd gesture – calling his girls _things_ isn't going to get anyone anywhere. Not if he can help it.

"How'd it go?"

Owen shakes his head at Barry's question, making for the raptor enclosure.

"Same old, same old," he says, as Barry falls in step beside him. "Park's not makin' enough money to line their pockets, InGen's solving it by whipping up another dinosaur. Oh, and we're accelerating again."

"Wonderful," Barry says, his tone indicating he thinks it's anything but. "Wonder if they'll give the underwater dinosaurs another go."

"What, the mosasaur wasn't good enough for you?" Owen smirks.

Barry shakes his head. "Maybe something smaller."

"Yeah, well, with what they're talking, I doubt we'll be getting anything smaller than a T-rex anytime soon," Owen says, opening the first gate to the enclosure.

"At least it isn't our problem," Barry sighs. "I'm worried about us accelerating again, though."

"You and me both," Owen mutters, eyeing his girls through the gate, where they're flashing in and out of the trees.

"I'm talking about the new recruits, too," Barry adds, glancing up to where the group of obviously shaky employees stand, gawking at the raptors from the catwalk. "Most of them are alright, but there are one or two of them that don't… understand."

"Figures," Owen says. "They will soon enough."

"Let's hope so," Barry says, narrowing his eyes on a dark-haired man standing closest to the edge. "Keep an eye on that one," he adds after a minute.

Owen finally rips his attention away from his girls long enough to study the new worker. He can't be older than twenty-five, tall and lean-built. It's his eyes that are concerning, though, burning and intense on Blue despite his skittish stance.

"Yeah, I'll do that," he murmurs, still watching the man. He doesn't like it when people look at his girls like that.

A sharp yelp diverts his attention, and he turns to where Charlie's standing by the bars.

"Hey there," he says, melting into a relaxed, open stance. "Decided you're not mad with me anymore, huh?"

Charlie cocks her head, eyes flicking from the metal bucket, to him, and back. Owen laughs.

"Oh, I see how it is," he says, picking up the bucket, eyes still locked on Charlie. "You only love me when I'm useful to you."

Charlie chirrups, nudging at the bars. Owen smiles, resisting the urge to open the gate.

"Yeah, yeah," he says, tossing a chunk of meat in her direction. Charlie gives a delighted yelp, snatching it up and devouring it. "You're gonna be the fattest dinosaur in the park, at this rate."

Charlie chirrups again at his tone, eyes flashing haughtily towards him, towards the bucket. Owen shakes his head, tossing her another chunk of meat.

"Gotta stop being a softie one of these days," he says, watching Charlie. Another set of sharp cries cuts through the air, and Echo and Delta dart through the trees. Charlie growls, curling around her meat defensively.

"Was wondering where the rest of you were," Owen says, grinning at Echo and Delta's plaintive whines. "Don't be babies, I got some for you too."

Charlie pouts as Echo and Delta happily devour their own treats, giving Owen what he swears is a wounded glance.

"Hey, I don't pick favorites, remember?" he says, clicking his tongue at her. He frowns, staring at the three. "Now where's your sister?"

A sharp whistle brings Blue out of the trees, her head tilted at the display. She edges near, stance aggressive as she picks up the scent.

"Yeah, lazy, I got some for you too," he says, tossing her the meat. She snaps it up, placated, and Owen sighs, wiping his hands on his jeans.

"If only you'd be this good when InGen comes around-"

Blue lunges forward, eyes locked on his arm. Owen jerks his hand back just in time, hissing at the nearness of Blue's teeth. She snaps at him through the bars, growling. Angry.

"What did I say about giving me that shit, Blue," he growls, meeting her glare. Blue returns it, fierce and hungry, before stalking off, disappearing into the foliage.

Owen bites his lip. _Close_ , he thinks. He was so close.

He'll get them back, one of these days.

* * *

The thing about working on a beautiful, tropical island that has what's essentially a 364-day summer is that you have to be prepared to be drenched in sweat every waking moment of your life. Unfortunately, the thing about working as a crew member with raptors means that board shorts are pretty much out of the question, save for the few, rare days he has off that he doesn't spend sleeping or sitting with his girls. Not that he minds the worn trousers and heavy boots he's made his uniform, but they get old pretty fast on days like these, Owen thinks, wiping sweat form his forehead.

How Clai- Ms. Dearing pulls off wearing all-white ensembles each day is beyond him. Maybe it's because she sticks to looser, breezy skirts. Or it could be that she spends ninety percent of her time inside with AC, but who knows.

Owen shakes his head, still rubbing sleep from his eyes as he pulls up to the raptor enclosure. It's only seven am and the heat already takes his breath away, the feeble air-conditioning the jeep offered already a distant memory as he fumbles with the locks on the gate.

He frowns, fingers pausing. The gate is already unlocked.

Owen's frown deepens, his hands stilling completely. He's been called paranoid more times than he can count in his life, but something is screaming _wrong_ about the entire thing. Because while he's certainly not the only person with access to the raptor enclosure, he's normally the only one out this early on Sundays.

Also, no one else is stupid enough to leave the arms cabinet swinging open.

A clanking echoes from inside the enclosure, heavy footsteps on the catwalk. Owen steps out lightly, stance rigid as he climbs the stairs, steps quiet and gentle. As he rises, he can hear a faint muttering, the familiar _snap-click_ of someone loading a gun. Owen tenses.

Despite the general enthusiasm over the reopening of the park, there are plenty of people who voiced their doubts, who criticized the movement (at times, Owen was half-tempted to agree with them). But no matter how vicious their criticisms grew, most of those people tended to stay far, far away from the island and its business.

Everyone save the radicals, that is. As with every controversial movement, you were bound to get a handful of crazies, the people so caught up in their own vendetta that they forgot about their own well-being, the well-being of others, and went to insane lengths to make their points. And for Jurassic World, that often meant the death of the beings so offending to them.

Owen flings himself up the last few steps, sprinting out onto the catwalk just as the man raises the gun. He whirls to face him, and Owen freezes as the gun trains directly at his chest. His eyes flick from the gun's barrel to the man's face, and he feels his stomach sink as he recognizes the new crewmember, the skittish, dark-haired one with the burning eyes. Damn it.

"Get away," the man yelps, eyes wide and hands shaking, fingers raised just above the trigger. Owen swallows, raising his hands defensively.

He really, really wishes he'd brought Barry with him.

"Okay," he says, forcing calm into his voice. "Okay. Just calm down, okay? There's no need for that-"

"Yes there is!" the man – Benson, if Owen remembers – barks. "You all think you're so great, think you're the voice of _progress_ with what you're doing – all you're doing is creating death for the rest of us!"

Owen takes a breath, conscious of Benson's shaking hold over the trigger.

"Okay," he says. "Okay, I know you're – I know this can be upsetting, but you're risking a _lot_ here-"

"I know _exactly_ what I'm doing," Benson hisses. "I'm ridding us of this – this _monstrosity_ -"

Owen resists the urge to bite back, to yell at Benson. What he needs now is to remain calm, to get the gun out of his hands-

A sharp cry echoes through the enclosure, and Owen's blood runs cold as Blue darts out from the trees, slowing to a halt beneath the catwalk. She looks up at him expectantly, eyes flicking to Benson in curiosity.

 _Run,_ Owen gestures at her, jerking his head, urgent. _Get out of here._

Blue remains below them, making a low noise in her throat as she circles beneath him. Benson's eyes are wide on her, disgust and raw fear tinging his expression as he raises the gun.

"Abomination," he whispers, eyes locked on Blue. His fingers move to the trigger.

Owen doesn't think about the gun. He doesn't think of how unstable the catwalk is. He only thinks of his girls and how this bastard is about to put a bullet in his beautiful, intelligent Blue, and he snaps.

Benson yelps as Owen tackles him, losing his grip on the gun as the two go flying against the slender railings and - _snap_.

 _Should've told them to reinforce the catwalk a week_ _earlier_ , is all Owen can think before the two plummet to the ground, Benson shrieking as he shoves him away. Owen hits the ground _hard_ \- hard enough and awkwardly enough that he feels the bones in his arm snap, sees stars as his head cracks into the hard-packed dirt.

He groans, head spinning as he rolls onto his back, suppressing a cry of pain as his arm is jostled. He shakes his head, trying to clear his vision as he looks for Benson.

It hits him very quickly that there's a much bigger threat with them now.

Benson has realized it too, eyes wide and considerably less dazed than Owen as he grasps for his gun. Blue is mere feet away, hackles raised as she growls at them, stance fixated and deadly.

Owen slowly, slowly, pushes himself up, reaching for the clicker in his back pocket. Maybe, _just maybe_ , Blue will calm down long enough to let them escape-

A loud click cuts through his thoughts, and he turns to see Benson leveling the gun at Blue. There's a hard cruelty etched into his face, underneath the fear and hysteria, and Owen knows there's no stopping the shot this time.

So he forgets thinking again and charges Benson, just as a sharp blast echoes through the enclosure.

Owen blinks. Benson stares at him, hands still shaking around the gun. There's a dull, burning pressure in his shoulder, and the he can't – he can't see straight-

Owen gasps, trying to figure out how he ended up on the ground, fingers grasping uselessly in the dirt as the pain in his shoulder _ignites_ , and – okay, this was actually expected, but the bastard actually _shot_ him, there's a hole in his shoulder and – right, that would explain the sticky redness on his fingers.

The world tilts dangerously and Owen goes limp, his head smacking back into the dirt as his breath stutters into harsh gasping at the sudden pain. A dark shape cuts across the clear blue of the sky, hot breath against his face and an agitated crooning reaching his ears. He gives Blue a faint smile. _Safe_ , he thinks. She's safe.

And angry. Very, very angry. Blue lets out a venomous, incensed growl, but her eyes are no longer on him. They're glued on Benson, who is now frantically reloading his gun.

He never gets the chance. The last thing Owen hears before he blacks out is a high-pitched scream that ends abruptly in a sickening crunch.

* * *

"… _ke up, damnit, wake…."_

" _Come on….wen, you need to…."_

" _OWEN!"_

Owen groans, screwing his eyes shut against the loud, grating voices echoing in his head. They sound amplified, as if coming through speakers, or…

Owen's eyes blink open slowly, and he gasps at the wave of pain that assaults him. His head weighs two tons and his mouth tastes of ash, and he feels like he's waking up to the worst hangover in the world.

" _Owen, please!"_

The voices continue to hammer through his head, and Owen groans, squinting up. Instead of the paneled ceiling of his bungalow, he's met with shining grey and blue scales. Following the scales up, he now understands the uneasy feeling that's been growing in his stomach.

"Oh _holy shi-"_

He moves to roll back, stopping abruptly as his shoulder flares in agony. He collapses back onto the dirt, memory flooding back. _Benson, gunshots, Blue, screaming-_

Owen swallows, noticing the blood dripping down Blue's throat, staining her teeth. He faintly wonders why she hasn't killed _him_ yet. While her stance is rigid, teeth bared and a low growling emanating from her throat, she isn't looking at him. None of the raptors are, actually.

Which is very strange, because Owen's pretty sure he's the biggest target in the universe right now, bleeding out on the ground like this.

" _Owen, can you hear me?_ "

He recognizes the voice over the loudspeaker as Barry's, tense and worried. He grits his teeth, eyes locked on Blue as he gently pushes himself up to a half-sitting position, groaning as his shoulder pulls. Another stream of blood floods its way down his already-drenched arm, and Owen feels like throwing up. Blue continues to ignore him, still hissing at what he now realizes is the gate. Charlie, Echo, and Delta flank her, their stances just as threatening – but they're not directed at him.

"Barry?" he tries, wincing as his voice cracks painfully. Blue glances down at the sound of his voice, and Owen freezes. Instead of biting his head off, though, she whines, drawing closer to him.

" _Owen!"_

That's definitely not Barry's voice, he thinks, hazily. That voice is higher and feminine and calming, even if it's panicked. That's Claire's voice.

" _Thank God,"_ he hears Barry mutter. " _Owen, you need to get out of there."_

Owen stares at the gate, where he can now see a small crowd of people gathered. Wonderful. He has a bullet in his shoulder, his arm might be broken, and he's pretty sure he's concussed. Yeah, getting out of a pack of raptors should be a walk in the park.

" _Owen, they won't let us get you. We tried."_

As if to punctuate his words, Delta growls, snarling at the gate. Owen stares at his girls again, gathered around him, not to kill, but more like they're… like they're protecting him.

 _Huh,_ Owen thinks, a smile splitting his face. _How about that._

" _Owen, you need to move now! You're bleeding out!"_

There's Claire again, her voice growing panicked, and Owen feels his own pulse quicken. Claire is worried, which makes him worried, because Claire… Claire… He frowns. His vision is spinning again.

" _Owen, get off your ass!"_

"Fine!" he wheezes, pushing himself to his feet with his good arm. This immediately proves to be a mistake, as the world turns sideways and his vison flashes white. He stumbles to the side, conscious of the irritated screeching around him, and smacks into something cool and tough and scaled and – _yup, he's dead._

Except for Charlie doesn't take a chunk out of his arm for the offense. She makes a high-pitched, keening noise, back away as Blue snaps at him. She cuts him a glance, irritation in her eyes, and Owen feels like she's scolding him.

Owen takes a breath. As much as he'd love to stay in here, relishing in the fact that _his girls love him again_ , there's blood loss. And concussion. And just beyond the gate is medical attention.

Gritting his teeth, Owen turns his back to the gate, facing Blue and the others. He painfully adopts his own defensive stance, good arm raised as he takes a cautious step backwards.

"Okay, okay," he says, voice quavering as he stares down Blue. "Calm down, okay? I'm good. I'm good."

Blue growls at him, head jerking forward in agitation. Echo gives a low, pitiful whine from behind her.

"Hey, don't give me that, okay?" he says, forcing his voice to sound stronger. "You did good. You did really, really good. Extra treats for all of you. Now _stand down_."

Charlie, Delta, and Echo slow at that, reacting to the authority in his words. Blue continues to stalk forwards, hissing at the crowd over his shoulder.

"No, no, hey," he says, still taking wobbly steps backwards. He's close, mere feet away now. "You did good. You gotta let me go now, though, okay?" Blue lets out another hiss. "They're not gonna hurt me, Blue."

Blue's head is inches from his hand, her teeth close enough to take half his arm off. He hears the intakes of breath from behind him, the agitated tapping of Barry's fingers on the bars.

"Open it halfway," Owen mutters, eyes still glued on Blue. He hears the creak of the gate just as her head snaps to the side, the others surging forwards.

"No, no!" Owen yells, stumbling back, hand still raised. "Stop it, stop!"

His girls go still, hissing in agitation but fixated on him. Owen shakes off the growing dizziness, ignores the shaking in his legs.

Stupidity's always been one of his stronger suits, anyways.

Slowly, slowly, he moves his hand forwards, his fingers brushing the edge of Blue's head. He ignores the gasps from behind him, focusing on Blue as she trembles beneath his touch.

"Hey," he says softly. "You gotta let me go."

Blue whines, nudging forwards into his touch. Owen laughs, soft and incredulous.

"Now."

Giving Blue one last, regretful look, Owen flings himself backwards, crying out as he rolls under the gate as his arm shifts. The gate slams shut behind him, and he can hear Blue's distressed yelping through the buzzing in his ears. Worried voices shout around him as firm hands wrap haul him backwards, and he cringes at the bright blue and red lights that flash across his vision.

The last thing he hears before he blacks out completely is Claire's voice, standing out from all the others.

"Damnit, Owen, hang on!"

* * *

No matter how many times Owen wakes up in the hospital (which, at this point, totals up to a fair amount), the experience is never a pleasant one. This time is no exception.

The steady, irritating beeping brings him to, coupled with the uncomfortable sensation of needles stuck into his anesthesia-numbed skin. He groans, cracking his eyes open and immediately regretting the action.

"Well, it's about time."

"Mmph," Owen grunts. "Turn the ligh's off."

"Unfortunately, Mr. Grady, I am incapable of turning off the sun."

Owen's eyes snap open at that, immediately placing the voice and its lilting tone.

"Claire?"

She nods, smoothing out her impeccably neat white skirt where she sits on a hard-backed chair near his bed. For once, she does not correct his use of her first name, opting to stare at him with a look he can't place. She looks as pristine as usual, her vibrant red hair straight and silky as always, but there are dark circles under her eyes, faint stress marks not-quite hidden under the fine layer of makeup.

She clears her throat. "You gave us quite a scare, there. I was beginning to worry we'd need to hire a new raptor handler."

Her words are light, but Owen catches the edge beneath them, the subtle tremors in her voice.

"Sorry," he says, glancing at the swath of bandages that trail up his shoulder. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

"I'd hope not," Claire says, softly. "For the raptors' sake, at least," she adds, hurriedly. Owen would focus on that more if he wasn't distracted.

"Blue," he says, pulse quickening. "Charlie, Echo, Delta – are they alright?"

"Yes, of course, they're fine – for heaven's sake, lay down!" she yelps, pushing him back. "They're perfectly fine! You, on the other hand, are a mess!"

Owen nods shakily, exhaling in relief as he relaxes. Claire has a point, he thinks, suppressing another groan as his shoulder throbs in pain.

Claire stares at him, face pinched in concern as he catches his breath. There's something soft in her gaze, a look Owen's never seen before – at least, not directed at him.

"Anyways," she says, after a quick cough. "Your doctor said you should be cleared in a day or two, if you keep still."

Owen groans, eyeing the white walls with disdain. He'll lose his mind in an hour in here. It'll be a miracle if he makes it a day.

"You have a gunshot wound in your shoulder and a broken arm. You were lucky enough to only suffer a minor concussion, but I wouldn't go pushing your luck," Claire says, clearly unsympathetic. She pauses. "And if it makes you feel any better, Benson won't be… working, with you, any more."

"Really," Owen mutters, remembering the sharp scream, the ugly crunch of bones. He hesitates. "Blue won't… she won't be in trouble for that, will she?"

Claire gets the usual expression of half-exasperation, half-curiosity on her face as she does when he refers to Blue as a person, but she shakes her head.

"Our policies here are very clear, and Benson's actions certainly weren't protected by the park. We'll have to fill out a report or two, start interviewing new recruits better, but that's all." A look of regret crosses her face. "It won't happen again," she says, softly. "I'm sorry."

"S'not your fault," Owen says, and he's sincere. "Just some idiot who couldn't understand."

"Just an idiot," Claire repeats, vacantly. "An idiot that nearly killed you."

"Aw," Owen says. "I didn't know you cared." Because while Claire's concern for him makes his heart do things he'd rather ignore at this point, he hates seeing her sad.

"Only for the well-being of my employees," Claire snaps, but there's amusement in her words. She shakes her head. "Speaking of which, I have a meeting I need to be getting to."

"There's always a meeting," Owen mutters. "But hey, thanks for stopping by. And… and for watching out for Blue, and stuff."

"Of course," Claire says, softening again. She stands, heels clacking as she makes for the door. Owen watches her go, a hundred words on his tongue.

"Claire!"

She turns immediately, red hair whipping around.

"Yes?"

"For compensation," he says. "Will you go on that date with me?"

Claire stares at him, mouth half-open as she turns pink. She snap her mouth closed, jaw working as she continues to stare at him.

"Alright," she finally says. "For compensation."

And with that, she spins back around, heels clacking as she leaves, a hint of a smile on her face before she's gone completely.

And despite the growing pain in his shoulder, Owen feels his face split into an enormous grin.

* * *

 _Click, click, click._

"Eyes on me, eyes on me!"

Four sets of wide, intelligent eyes follow him, heads tilted up in open attention. Owen grins.

"Alright," he says, turning the clicker over in his hands as he steps forward, footsteps measured and slow. "Good, great. Stay just like that."

The raptors oblige, though they're far from still. Echo shifts restlessly side to side, eager to run around, while Delta regards him with curiosity, head tilted to the side. Charlie sniffs the air, clearly expecting her treat, and Blue preens, hissing proudly as if to say _look at me, look at how good I am._

"That's my girls," he says, reaching for the raw strips of meat. They chirp excitedly as he tosses them, darting back to snatch them off the ground – he's tentatively accepted, now, but he's not stupid enough to go feeding them straight out of his hand.

Well, not yet.

He gives a sharp whistle, and Charlie, Echo, and Delta dart off, screeching excitedly into the trees. Blue, however, lingers, her eyes fixed on him. Owen swallows, running the clicker over in his hands again.

"Get going, Blue," he says, jerking his head towards the trees. Blue whines, moving slowly towards him. He inhales sharply, willing himself to remain still. Blue stops mere inches from him, close enough that he can feel her hot breath, see the rippling of her scales.

She chirps loudly, nudging his hand briefly with her head before darting off. Owen watches her go, heart still hammering in his chest.

"Well, there's my proof." Owen starts at the sound of Barry's voice, glancing up to the catwalk to where his coworker stands, a disbelieving look on his face. "You are insane."

"Nah," Owen says, making for the gate. "You're just jealous." Barry shakes his head, a faint smile pulling at his mouth.

"Not even close."

"Your loss," Owen says, glancing back at where Blue disappeared. He rubs his shoulder, wound still tender under the swath of bandages. "You're missing out."

Blue screeches in the distance, and Owen smiles, missing Barry's reply. He might not be pack, but he's close enough. It's a start.

And something he'll worry about later, he thinks, locking the enclosure.

He's got a date to get to, now.


End file.
